


natasha, natasha

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War & Peace (TV 2007), War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Autistic Natasha, F/M, Natasha-centric, Poetry, Synesthesia, also i hate hate hate anatasha and this is not that kind of fic, but hey anatasha shippers indulge yourselves if you want, i dont really ship her with either anatole nor andrei, i’m not autistic and it’s not explicitly mentioned but hey, mostly this is focused on her synesthesia which is c a n o n fight me, you can read it that way if you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: “i’m here now.”and andrey isn’t here...





	natasha, natasha

**Author's Note:**

> hey read the tags !!! i don’t like anatasha and i don’t really like andrei either that much and this fic was written mostly because i was thinking about how sharp the name ‘kuragin’ is and i thought that was a very natasha thing to think. 
> 
> i don’t hate anatole, but i don’t believe that he and natasha were ever really in love, and aside from focusing on natasha’s synesthesia, i wrote this to try to represent why i think natasha ever fell for anatole — i’m certain she was just lonely, and that when this alien came into her world, she was desperate to attach herself to someone. 
> 
> enjoy! :)

The name had a sharpness to it, she thought. Kuragin. Anatole Kuragin. It didn’t match him, she thought. He was all soft edges, hands like satin, voice as gentle as his touch, smile as tender as his tone.

 

 

 

Not like Andrey. Never like Andrey.

 

 

 

Andrey.

 

 

 

Andrey, who said he’d love her no matter what. Whom she told would have her heart until her time on the earth was through. Whom she’d pledged to love until she was an angel again, until time came to its end and it was only the two of them, souls entwined at the end of everything —

 

 

 

Andrey. Andrey, who wasn’t here.

 

 

 

A soft breath against her ear, like an angel’s, drawing her back to the present. ‘I’m here now.’

 

 

 

He was here.

 

 

 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Her heart thrummed like a rabbit’s against her ribcage. She was certain he could sense it. There was too much, far too much — the sound of the strings melted together into eerie static, the room became one great, dizzying blur as they spun across the floor, and she could see millions, millions of candles, each one of them reflected blindingly in the lights of his eyes, and oh, it was too hot, far too hot —

 

 

 

‘Natalie.’

 

 

 

Her breath caught. _Oh, you wretched girl,_ she thought.

 

 

 

It was then that he kissed her.

 

 

 

 _Wretched, wretched girl,_ she thought as she kissed him back.

 

 

 

He wasn’t Andrey. She wanted Anatole no more than she wanted her forgotten fiancé, but no less. Andrey, all hard edges and enticing, calculated coldness. She loved him and she resented him. Why did he have to leave?

 

 

 

It was as though a great, gaping space inside her had been filled — filled with flimsy cotton that could fall apart at any moment. It was as though her wound had been bandaged — bandaged with only the weakest cloth.

 

 

He was not Andrey. He was softer. Gentle. Tender. She didn’t like Anatole, she decided. He frightened her. She did not like the thought of what she might do in his presence, nor the feelings he stirred.

 

 

 

But she was alone. Lost, and alone, and _lonely_. Andrey wasn’t here. She needed Anatole to be there.

 

 

 

‘I love you,’ she said, because it seemed like the thing to do.

 

 

 

He would never be her Andrey. But he would be hers.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos keep me writing and comments make me smile like an idiot for an hour!


End file.
